


Let This Moment Linger

by Rosencrantz95



Series: Through Time [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley Friendship (Good Omens), Based on True Events, Battlefield, Blood and Injury, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demons, Dublin (City), Easter Rising 1916, Grace by Jim McCann, Graphic Description, Historical References, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Ireland, James McConnell - Freeform, Joseph Plunkett - Freeform, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Rebellion, Serious Injuries, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), it’s war so there’s definitely violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosencrantz95/pseuds/Rosencrantz95
Summary: The Angel is on a mission to help the British army keep the Irish Rebels in place and stop them from distracting from WWI. He hopes to avoid any senseless violence, but no such luck. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on who you asked) Aziraphale knows one of the Rebels quite well.... He can’t bring himself to fight his best and only friend...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), crowley & hell
Series: Through Time [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736095
Kudos: 17





	Let This Moment Linger

**Author's Note:**

> “Oh Grace just hold me in your arms ad let this moment linger  
> They'll take me out at dawn and I will die  
> With all my love I place this wedding ring upon your finger  
> There won't be time to share our love for we must say goodbye.“

**_Easter Rising_ ** **:**

**Dublin, Ireland 1916**

“So what is it I’m meant to be doing?” 

Gabriel pursed his lips, clearly struggling with his patience.

“Aziraphale...it’s quite simple.”

The principality would beg to differ, but not in front of his superior.

“The British government is struggling to keep those rowdy spud-lovers under control. This  _ World War  _ is supposed to set the British Empire above all other European nations.” Gabriel droned on for what must have been the third or fourth time. “Keeping the Irish under British rule is essential to winning this war. Right now, they’re preparing some half baked idea of revolution which will only distract from the war. Helping the English and their allies win the war is essential.”

“Yes. I’ve heard all that.” Aziraphale interrupted tentatively, “but what is  _ my  _ assignment, specifically?”

“Your  _ assignment  _ is to do as you’re told. You’re going to go back down there and be a good little soldier and  _ make certain  _ that this rebellion is  _ squashed  _ before it goes any further. Mmkay?”

The Archangel’s smile was almost painful to look at. Aziraphale could barely keep himself from grimacing.

“Right. I’ll do that then.” Aziraphale said compliantly.

With an annoyed flourish of his hands, Gabriel shooed Aziraphale away.

  
  


*****

This is how Aziraphale, the former Principality of the Eastern Gate, the current Sergeant Fell of the British armed forces, found himself sitting in an overly cramped vessel floating laboriously between England and Ireland. 

Aziraphale was struggling with his thoughts. The British government had received false intelligence suggesting that the Irish rebellion was actually a ploy by the Germans to get an upper hand in the European conflict. The angel sat among these young men—some of whom didn’t even know how to fire their weapons yet— _ knowing _ that they were all being led into a fight under false pretenses. And he couldn’t say anything about it; Gabriel had made his restrictions abundantly clear.

The plan was to sail from Liverpool across the Irish Sea and arrive in Dublin via the Liffey river, which spilled right into the heart of the city (not unlike the Thames in London). They’d have to assess the situation and hope the Irish Rebel forces would surrender quickly with minimal bloodshed. 

Hoping to encourage such a surrender, Aziraphale had used a few miracles to halt the delivery of weapons the Rebels so desperately needed. Surely without adequate artillery they would realize that they didn’t stand a chance and it would be best to call the whole thing off. When they finally arrived in Dublin, they were quickly informed that the threatened uprising had been canceled; word had come that morning from MacNeill, the head of the Irish Volunteers. Aziraphale was so relieved his smile was practically obscene. 

“It really is for the best.” He was telling one of the younger privates, “we really can’t afford to be fighting each other when we’re already fighting the Germans.”

“Yes sir. Just worried.”

“Whatever for, Nathaniel?”

“Well it don’t feel right, yeah? It’s almost too easy, inn’t?”

“Oh I don’t know. Perhaps we should just be grateful that no fighting had to happen. I mean, surely you—“

Suddenly shots rang out and all heads snapped in the direction of the sound. 

“ _ No… _ ” Aziraphale thought with despair. Soon, his commanding officer was shouting orders and pointing aggressively. He had no choice but to take up his own weapon and run off with his platoon. The shots continued intermittently, and all seemed to be coming from the General Post Office. Screaming civilians came running outside into the streets. From the looks of it, the rebels had seized the GPO as if they planned on using it as a sort of home base. 

It was chaos. It was war. Aziraphale had experienced war, but there was something about this that felt so much worse. It was the screaming. The screaming that drowned out the yells and battle cries. The screaming of innocent civilians: mothers, children, and everyday Irish citizens who didn’t ask for this and now had no way out. The British troops didn’t seem to have much of a plan. They shot blindly at the direction the opposition’s shots were coming from. Refusing to sink to that level of desperation, Aziraphale moved forward and used as many minor miracles as he dared to keep the humans from both sides safe from any fatal wounds. One man near him fell to the ground  _ hard _ and cried out in pain. Not caring that his uniform was green, Aziraphale dove toward the man and grabbed him. He brought them both to hide behind an overturned wagon. 

“No! Please!” 

Right away the Angel realized this was no man at all...but a boy. He couldn’t be older than 15. The poor child was terrified and gripping his shoulder tightly. Blood trickled through his pale fingers. 

“It’s alright.” Aziraphale said gently, reaching for the boy’s hand. He flinched away, clearly frightened by the British uniform. “It’s alright. I’m going to help you.”

_ Trust me _ …

Aziraphale willed a sense of calm into the young soldier’s mind. It seemed to work, but he did remove his hand from his bleeding arm. However, this time, when Aziraphale reached for his hand to examine the wound, the boy didn’t resist.

He could tell right away this young man was in no immediate danger. He gave a relieved sigh and turned to face his patient again.

“You’re going to be fine, my dear. It’s just a flesh wound. The bullet must have grazed you. You were quite lucky. Even still, I should bandage that. Brand new uniform covered in blood—what would your mother say?” Aziraphale chuckled, trying to ease the boy’s nerves. Without hesitation the lad said, “Mam’s dead.”

“Oh.” Was all the Angel could think to say in response.

“She birthed me brother Silas, fell asleep and never woke up again.”

“Oh my dear. I’m terribly sorry to hear it. Are you the eldest?”

“Nosir.” He winced as the Angel wrapped his arm tightly in a bandage, “me older brothers and Da are fightin’ the Germans with the British army. ‘M too young to fight, so it’s me here alone with baby Silas.”

“It’s very brave of you to take on all this responsibility yourself.”

“Nothin’ else for it, sir.”

After a moment’s silence, the young soldier asked “why’re you helping me, sir?”

Aziraphale hesitated, then responded with his own question.

“What’s your name, my dear?”

“Sam—Samuel.”

“Well, Samuel, I’m Ezra. Well….  _ Sergeant  _ Fell… but you may call me Ezra.”

Finally, the boy called Sam smiled.

“To answer your question, I’m helping you because it’s the right thing to do. Do you want to fight me, Samuel?”

“Nosir.”

“Then I’d say it sounds like we’re on the same side.”

They both smiled then...but this moment of peace was cut short as the sound of gunshots and shouting and running grew louder. Aziraphale looked around to find a group of older, obviously more experienced green-clad soldiers rushing toward them. Before he could entertain another thought, the butt of a rifle made contact with Aziraphale’s temple and he was knocked thoroughly unconscious.

***

Some time later (Aziraphale couldn’t be sure just how much) he came to and groaned a little at the pain in his head. Once he felt comfortable opening his eyes, he was disappointed to find that it barely made any difference; his vision, as well as the rest of his face, was obstructed by a heavy burlap sack that had been placed over his head. He tried to lift a hand to remove it only to find his hands bound tightly together behind his back. 

He sighed, resigning himself to whatever was going to happen next.

_ Oh yes well done, Aziraphale...hardly 30 minutes into this mess and you’ve already been captured by the opposing side.  _ He could practically hear Gabriel now.  _ Fan-bloody-tastic… _

His thoughts were interrupted first by rustling next to him, then by grumbling that sounded remarkably like how he felt. He deduced he was not alone, wherever he was, and he wasn’t the only ‘hostage’ the rebels had captured.

Almost immediately after realizing this, he heard the sound of a door opening along with men talking.

“Well then. Let’s see what we have here. The lads found you three behind enemy lines.” The first voice said, Irish brogue quite subtle, nearly British.

“Almost  _ asking _ to be attacked, they were.” Much stronger accent there….

“Oi, lads, quit playing around.” 

Now wait just a moment. Aziraphale  _ knew  _ that voice.

“Let’s see what info they can give us.”

Oh Aziraphale  _ definitely  _ knew that voice. He decided to risk it…

“Crowley?”

“Hey- Wot? Oh you must be joking. Aziraphale?”

The sudden burst of light that met Aziraphale’s eyes as Crowley removed the bag made him wince.

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing here?”

“Anthony, you know this man? This  _ Brit _ ?”

“James, lay off will ya? This is obviously a mistake.”

“What is it then, boyo? Yer friend here  _ accidentally  _ woke up this morn and put on a British army uniform?”

“James. You know you can trust me. This guy is no threat.” Crowley gestured to Aziraphale who looked thoroughly confused.

“He’s right, Connelly.” Another man entered the room and joined the conversation.

“Eh?”

“Young Samuel says that man helped him out. Bandaged him up.”

“Alright  _ fine _ untie him and get outta here so I can deal with these other two.”

Crowley knelt down behind Aziraphale’s chair and quickly untied the Angel. He helped him up only to have Aziraphale’s knees nearly give out on him.

“Whoa. Right. Looks like they got you good there.” Crowley took a closer look at the large gash on the side of Aziraphale’s head.

He helped the Angel to steady himself and led him away from the others.

“Let’s get you patched up, yeah?”

Aziraphale followed along silently, still painfully confused. What the hell was Crowley doing here? He’d been told Hell was focussing entirely on aiding the Germans…. 

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts he nearly missed what Crowley was hissing in his ear.

“Sorry about that, Angel. Had no idea. Can you sit down? I’ll get one of the girls to come have a look at that.”

Aziraphale sat down on an overturned wooden crate and watched as Crowley wandered over to a group of women who were busy patching up injured rebel soldiers. 

Aziraphale tried to heal himself, but doing so made him surprisingly woozy. Maybe he ought to ask Crowley to heal him, just a small demonic miracle. 

He prepared himself to ask as he saw Crowley coming back wearing an embarrassed expression.

“What is it?”

“Eh….well. We need to find you something else to wear.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“They don’t want to help a British soldier.” Crowley grumbled apologetically.

“Oh…” was all Aziraphale could think to say as the pain in his head throbbed sharply, as if trying to demand his attention.

“Can’t you just…?” Aziraphale asked, snapping his fingers to indicate a miracle.

“Oh Christ. Erm…. I would, really I would, but I can’t. You see...I’m not  _ technically  _ supposed to be here.” Crowley started to ruffle through some of the crates around them, hunting for something Aziraphale could change into.

“I don’t follow.” Aziraphale admitted slowly.

“I’m meant to be in Germany. But...before I got my orders, I’d been hanging around this lot.” He gestured fondly at the rebel group, “and—firstly, the Irish  _ know _ how to  _ drink _ !” Crowley laughed and gave a triumphant grunt as he pulled a denim workman’s jacket. It looked like it was meant for a farmer or perhaps a miner.

“Quick. Get that red coat off and put this on. I don’t think your trousers will be an issue. As long as you don’t look  _ too  _ different from the rest of us.  _ Anyway _ they sorta got me roped into all of this. But the guys downstairs can’t know I’m here. If they catch wind of any occult energy in the area, they get curious and...well it won’t be pleasant, I’ll say that much. So I can’t do any miracle or even cause any mischief...which is really hard, but it’s worth the cause.”

“You’re part of this rebellion?”

“Well...yeah.”

“But why, Crowley?”

“Look, Angel, these people deserve the chance to govern themselves. Home rule and all!”

Aziraphale winced again.

“Right. Sorry. I’ll be right back.” Crowley left once again to enlist the help of one of the medics.

Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Things just got more complicated. Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to fight Crowley. He’d come to see the demon as a friend...pretty much the only friend he had. But his orders were to shut this rebellion down as quickly as possible. He didn’t have a choice, did he? He absolutely could not disobey direct orders from Above. 

A few minutes later, Crowley returned with a young woman with curly, sandy blonde hair and a kind Irish smile.

“Azir….erm...I mean Ange—Ngk… no um…” Crowley tried to introduce him.

“Sergeant Fell.” Aziraphale supplied for him, a little bemused at his bumbling. “Ezra Fell.” He continued with a smile to the young woman.

“Right. Well.  _ Sergeant _ Fell...this is Muriel. She’s Tomas’s girl. You met him earlier...bloke who took the bag off your head.”

“Charming” Aziraphale muttered under his breath. 

“Tony, you incorrigible git. I’m nobody’s property!” She snapped back at Crowley, but with a playful smile on her face. “But I am to be married to Tomas, that’s true enough.” She explained kindly to Aziraphale with a wink. It was a bit more cheek than he expected from a young woman, but he sort of had to admire it.

“Now go on and leave us be, Mister Crowley. Don’t you be worryin’ I’ll have your friend stitched up in no time attall.”

It wasn’t terribly pleasant, but Muriel was true to her word and finished the job quickly. Give it a day and he knew he’d be able to heal himself properly anyway. He could tolerate it until then.

“Oh brilliant,” Crowley said as he came back around and clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder. “Did he behave for you, Muriel?”

“Oh hush, you! He was grand. Now I must be off.”

Aziraphale clasped her hand gratefully, “thank you, my dear. I appreciate your help.”

“Happy to help, Mister Fell.” She smiled warmly and nudged Crowley playfully as she walked away.

“I am sorry about all this, Angel.” Crowley said sheepishly as he joined Aziraphale, pulling up a seat to sit across from him.

“It’s quite alright, Crowley. It’s not as though you knew I was here.”

“I swear I didn’t.”

“But Crowley….I can't stay here. I have a job to do. I...I can’t disobey, you know that.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you, Angel…” Crowley sighed, “This is just...it’s important to me. Can you understand that?”

“I can’t say I do...but I trust you have your reasons and I won’t do anything to get in the way of that.”

They sat in silence for a while until Aziraphale couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I should be off.” He rose to his feet pointedly.

“You sure?” Crowley asked, trying (and failing) to mask his concern.

“I’m just fine, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled at his friend, “thank you for getting me out of that scrap back there.”

“Of course, Aziraphale. Come on. I’ll walk you out.” 

When they got outside, Crowley discreetly handed the Angel his Sergeant’s coat.

“Thank you, dear boy.” Aziraphale tucked it safely under his arm. He turned to walk away, but Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm.

“Wait, Angel… you know we won’t be able to get away with that again, right?”

“Oh. Yes I suppose you’re right.”

“You’re going to need to be more careful...we both are. Look...this could get really ugly and I don’t think it’ll do either of us any good to….erm…  _ go easy _ on each other.”

Aziraphale was surprised; surely Crowley didn’t mean what Aziraphale thought he meant.

“Crowley, you’re not able to use any miracles…. That’s not exactly a fair fight if we’re going up against each other.”

Crowley scoffed “Give me a little credit, Angel! I’m tougher than I look. And this lot’ve got a lot of heart. I mean look at the Americans something like 150 years ago! The little guy isn’t always  _ doomed _ to fail.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started, not even bothering to mask his concern. “Heaven is  _ determined  _ that this revolution be stopped…. If I fail, they’ll just send someone else.”

“You don’t have to fail! We’ll just...rebel quickly….”

Aziraphale chuckled sadly. “I don’t think there’s any way to avoid what’s coming. And we both have our priorities.”

“Yeah…” Crowley’s hand nervously went up to scratch the back of his neck. He seemed to be having trouble meeting the Angel’s eyes.

“I wish you the best of luck.” Aziraphale reached his hand out for Crowley to shake. He did and said “you too, Angel.”

Then they went their separate ways.

***

It was nothing short of horrible. It was despicable. By day 4 more civilians had lost their lives than soldiers. Still the battle went on. The British had brought in reinforcements and more sophisticated weapons. Machine guns tore through buildings like a knife through butter. Her majesty’s troops didn’t seem to care if they shot women, children, or rebels. Aziraphale felt sick. This was inhumane. 

Day 5 saw the GPO, headquarters for the rebellion, along with several surrounding buildings catch fire. Soon the GPO would need to be evacuated. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine the rebels could last much longer. 

He had managed to avoid Crowley in every skirmish and he hadn’t had the unfortunate task of taking any lives. But keeping his own hands clean didn’t stop the massacre.

Finally the worst happened: several rebel bases and safe houses collapsed under the incessant attack with machine guns. Aziraphale could take it no longer. As soon as night fell and the temporary ceasefire was called, Aziraphale enlisted the help of a few like minded privates who wanted to help save the innocent. 

It wasn’t easy going through the rubble. It was even more difficult when they found what they were dreading to find. More often than not, the bodies they found were those of civilians: innocent people who had asked for none of this, who had done nothing to deserve such a fate. 

Aziraphale didn’t even bother trying to stifle his tears. They flowed freely down his cheeks, but he stayed focused and moved along. If he could find even just one survivor, then he would know he hadn’t failed  _ completely _ .

So they kept looking, carrying torches and pointing their weak beams through the dust and grime. 

“Sergeant! Sergeant Fell! I found someone!”

Aziraphale came running.

“Nathaniel! Who is it? Are they still alive?”

“I don’ rightly know, sir. If ‘e is, it’s jus’ barely….”

Together, they uncovered a young rebel soldier with sandy blonde hair….

“Oh  _ no… _ ” Aziraphale uttered, dismayed. “ _ Samuel… _ ” he whispered, bringing a shocked hand to his mouth and using the other to shakily wipe the blood away from the boy’s blank, staring eyes. 

“Did you know him, Sergeant?” Nathaniel asked softly.

Aziraphale nodded slowly, “very briefly, yes.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“We have to keep looking.” Aziraphale stood, willing his composure to return. 

As they searched, Aziraphale felt as though he was growing weaker with each innocent life lost. They were able to recover a few survivors and get them to safety, but still...far too few.

It was nearly dawn when Aziraphale heard Nathaniel call for him again. He made his way over, with just a little less urgency...not wanting to see another familiar face. 

“This one’s definitely still kicking, sir!  _ Ow _ ! Quite literally!”

The Angel quickened his pace, hope daring to flare in his chest.

“ _ Ohhh fuck! FUCK! _ ”

Once again, Aziraphale found himself placing a very familiar voice.

“ _ Crowley _ !” He blurted out in a panic. He sprinted the rest of the way there. 

Sure enough, his demonic friend lay there in the rubble, broken and bruised and bleeding.

“I think he’s in a lot of pain, sir.” Nathaniel said, rather unhelpfully.

“Yes I believe he is.” Aziraphale replied patiently.

Something that sounded remarkably like an aggressive  _ hiss _ emanated from the fallen soldier. Nathaniel jumped back in surprise. Aziraphale had to admit he was grateful Crowley hadn’t opened his eyes. That would only aggravate the poor boy’s nerves further...and Aziraphale needed his help if he was going to get his friend to safety.

“Nathaniel, here, take this side.” He instructed and together they were able to free Crowley from the fallen debris that had been pining him to the ground. His demonic eyes flickered. Before Nathaniel could see, Aziraphale told him to go help the others keep looking for survivors.

He was then free to kneel by Crowley’s side. 

“Oh my dear…” he whispered, “what’s happened to you?”

“Dropped a bloody building on me, didn’t you.” Crowley’s gravely voice came as a surprise at first, almost as much of a surprise as his sarcasm.

“I most certainly did not!” Aziraphale snipped defensively.

Crowley gave a weak laugh that turned into a painful cough.

“R’lax, Angel. Only jokin’...”

“I hardly think this is the time for jokes, my dear. I frankly don’t understand how you haven’t discorporated yet!”

Crowley winced and groaned as he tried to move, “let’s jus’ call it willpower, yeah?”

”Oh Crowley… what do you suppose will happen if you  _ do _ discorporate? Did you think about that.”

“‘S a fair point. I’m willing to bet it won’ be good.” He grinned mischievously.

“What can I do to help?”

“Well...I’d really love to  _ not  _ still be here when the rest of the Brits come over to kill or capture the rest of us.”

Suddenly Crowley gasped loudly and grabbed Aziraphale’s coat with a death grip.

“What is it?! What do you need?”

“Ahh…..Ngk. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ I think my back is broken. Nope, I’m actually quite  _ positive  _ my back is broken.” Crowley’s breaths came in ragged gasps as his whole body tensed against the pain. 

“Alright I’m going to get you out of here.”

“N-n-no! No no no no, that’s alright, Angel. I-I’m actually very comfortable here. It’s nice and…..dirty.”

Aziraphale gave his friend a patient grimace. 

“Crowley, I have to move you. You and I both know it.”

The demon's lips pressed together in a fine, white line. His eyes were shut just as tightly. He gave no answer.

Taking this as resigned consent, Aziraphale hooked his arms under Crowley’s and tried to shift him.

Crowley screamed.

“I’m so sorry, Crowley, but I can’t miracle you away; too many people….”

“For fuck’s sake just leave me. Oh Christ…” he was practically hyperventilating now.

“I’ll do no such thing!” Still, Aziraphale complied enough to set him down and come up with a better plan of action. 

Crowley’s breathing came quicker and quicker and Aziraphale realized his human corporation was likely about to go into shock. 

“Crowley. I need you to relax. Please just concentrate on me—on my voice.”

“Little hard….to… relax… right now… A-Angel.” Crowley growled.

“Where else are you hurt?” 

“D’no. Hurts….all over…”

The sun was starting to wink at them from just beyond the Dublin skyline. 

“Damn.” Aziraphale huffed “Crowley, we need to get out of here before the other officers come to try negotiating surrender.”

“Nah! Ngk…. no we can’t! Can’t s-surr….give up. Can’t give up now,”

“Crowley you  _ must _ ! You can’t win this fight. People are dying left and right! Women, children, everyone.  _ Children _ , Crowley. They didn’t ask to be part of this revolution. It has to stop. Now tell me where I can take you where you’ll be safe.”

Crowley’s face was pensive, sad. His eyes leaked tears from beneath his closed lids.

“Collins….” he finally answered weakly. “Michael Collins… he knows all the safe houses.” 

Then Crowley’s head lulled to the side and he lost consciousness.

***

It wasn’t difficult to track down this Michael Collins fellow. He was quite famous...or rather  _ infamous _ depending on which side you asked. Even Aziraphale, oblivious as he might sometimes be about politics, knew who he was.

The Angel was able to find him relatively easily. Muriel, who had recognized Aziraphale from earlier that week, had told him where to go and who to ask. Michael Collins himself was in hiding of course, so they had to be careful. When Aziraphale found the man in question and mentioned Crowley’s name, Michael was eager to help—even despite Aziraphale’s red British uniform.

“He said you might know of somewhere safe for him.”

“Yeah I know a place.”

“Oh thank goodness.” 

They reached the motionless demon. He looked dead. 

Collins knelt down and checked for a pulse. 

“I can’t see how, but your lad is alive. Saints preserve us….”

“Erm yes. Yes saints preserve us…”

“Alright, let’s not waste what precious time we have.”

“Right, of course.” Aziraphale looked around and spotted his young companion.

“Nathaniel! Come here, my boy!”

Together the three of them carried the demon laboriously away from the wreckage. 

“Where are we taking him?” Aziraphale asked Collins after a few minutes.

“Safe house.”

“I presumed as much, but  _ where _ ?”

Aziraphale’s concern for his friend was starting to make him snippy. He’d need to reign it in if Collins was still going to help him.

“ _ The Hall _ …” Collins hissed through his teeth, indicating that Aziraphale really ought to shut up now.

“What the hell’s the  _ Hall _ ?” Nathaniel whispered as loud as he dared to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale just shrugged; how should he know?

_The_ _Hall_ turned out to be _the Long Hall Pub_. The owner was sympathetic to the cause and they apparently had a few spare rooms hidden away upstairs. 

Aziraphale had to admit this was an excellent place to hide out. It was far enough away from the “battlefield” but damn near attached to Dublin Castle (where the British had claimed headquarters) so no one would think rebels would hide here. From this vantage point, you could keep your eye on the goings on for both sides of the fight.

“Joseph’s already upstairs, poor lad.” The barkeep was saying as he led the way up a secret staircase.

“How’s he doing?” Collins asked with genuine concern.

“As you’d expect. Tomas n’ Grace are both with him now, tendin’ to him best they can.”

As they talked, they slowly made their way up the narrow steps and found a small, but warm little room with a clean bed. They laid Crowley upon it as gently as they could. The four men caught their breath, and Aziraphale listened closely as the two rebels began to talk.

“Those Bastards. It’ll be a miracle if Tony survives this.”

“They didn’t even seem to care about the civilians! Jus’ shot their big and mighty guns and tore up the whole bloody city, din’ they?”

The way they cursed and spat in rage about the British troops made Aziraphale exceptionally glad he’d had the forethought to abandon his and Nathaniel’s coats before carrying Crowley away. Still, Nathaniel had grown quite pale at the snarling of the other two men. The guilt could not have been plainer in his face. 

“Nathaniel, go on back to the others. Keep helping with the search. If there are any survivors still out there, they’ll need all the help they can get.”

“Yessir, thank you, sir.” Nathaniel gave him a relieved smile and took off back the way they came.

“I really can’t thank you enough for your help.” The Angel said graciously to both Collins and the barkeep, whose name he learned was Fenian.

“Not attall, boyo. Say, I haven’t seen you ‘round with the other lads. You part of the Volunteers?” Fenian inquired, not bothering to cover up his suspicion.

“Eh… no.”

“The Citizen Army then?”

“No actually, I’m not from the area...but I am an old friend of Crow-I mean Anthony—Tony’s. I would do anything to help him.” 

“‘Sgood enough for me.” Collins said with a grin. “I’m gonna tell Tomas that Tony is here. He’ll wan’ tsee him. Joseph too if he’s up for it.” He left the room.

“I’m not much ofa nurse, but I’ve got the tools here if ya know what yer doin’,” the man called Fenian offered, gesturing to a small cupboard in the corner of the room.

“Ah. Yes. Thank you ever so much. I used to be a field medic, so I think he’ll be in good hands with me.”

The barkeep didn’t seem too convinced, and he still looked at the Angel with suspicion, but it was clear Collins’s word outweighed it. Without another word, Fenian left, pulling the door closed behind him.

As if on cue, Crowley started to come around. Aziraphale was at his side in an instant.

“I’m here! I’m here, my dear boy, I’m here. I’m going to set you to rights don’t you worry.”

“I’d be more inclined...to believe you….if you hadn’t...just dropped a building….on me.” Crowley still hadn’t opened his eyes—apparently, the pain he was in was too much for the sensory system already. Best not add to it with too much light and sound.

“Hush. I already  _ told _ you that wasn’t me.”

Crowley managed another grin, “Bet you get...a commendation...for thissss…. finally thwarted… your worst...worst...ah shit what’s the word?”

“Enemy, I suppose? Well that’s not the word I would use. And if they offered me a commendation, I wouldn’t want it. I’d tell them to...as you would say, shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Crowley started laughing at that, but the laughter quickly turned to groaning.

“Ahh fuck Zira, are you  _ trying _ to discorporate me?”

“No, my dear, I’m not.” Aziraphale said sadly, prepping some of the tools Fenian had indicated earlier.

Hoping to avoid extending the awkward moment, and hoping to distract himself, Crowley finally opened his eyes. “Where’re we, Angel?”

“Place called the  _ Long Hall _ . A pub or a saloon of some sort, I believe.”

“Oh good….I love the Hall. Serve good stuff here, they do.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Nah...thirsty, though. Powerful thirst I’ve got.”

“Aha… I don’t think that would be best at this time.” Aziraphale fought to suppress a smile at his friend’s signature attitude. Surely that meant he was going to be alright.

That relief didn’t last long. Here in the lamp light, away from the dark filth outside, it was easier to differentiate colours...and Aziraphale was fairly certain the bedsheets had been  _ white _ when they came in...not crimson.

“Oh bother…” Aziraphale said mostly to himself. 

“Erm Crowley dear… you’re bleeding.”

“Hmm? Yeah, might be….”

“No, you misunderstand. You are most definitely bleeding. Where are you bleeding from?”

“Frm my body...duh.”

“Crowley…? Have you been  _ shot _ ?!”

The demon tried to shrug in response but gasped in pain at the simple movement.

“Where Crowley? Where were you hit?”

“Dunno. Somewhere on the street ‘fore the machine guns started up again.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“No my dear, where  _ on your body _ were you  _ shot _ .”

“Dunno.” Crowley answered again, “hurts real bad when I touch this spot, though.” He lifted his jacket and shirt to reveal a nasty looking hole in his abdomen. The bullet must have gone all the way through; that’s why Crowley was losing so much blood.

Terrified, Aziraphale turned away from the wound to look at him, searching his face for pain.

Crowley was close to losing consciousness again, but Aziraphale simply couldn’t allow that, not when he knew his friend was in more danger than he’d originally thought. If he didn’t patch him up soon, Crowley would likely bleed out, and quickly too.

“No no no, Crowley. You mustn’t go to sleep. Please open your eyes again for me, my dear.” Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face in his hand, willing for the demon’s lovely golden eyes to open.

“‘M really tired, Ngel…”

“I know, dearest, I know, but not yet. Talk to me, okay? Tell me about what mischief you’ve been up to—besides this rebellion business.”

“Jus’ wanna thwart me, dun you?”

“Too late to thwart past deeds. Please tell me all about it.”

“Think I’d rather sleep… tell you nex’ time ‘kay?”

“Crowley... _ please _ .” Aziraphale pleaded desperately.

“Alrigh’  _ for you _ I’ll postpone my nap. You really wan’ hear about my… dast-dastardly deeds?”

“Very much so yes.” Aziraphale said, relieved, as he started to clean the wound on Crowley’s stomach.

Aziraphale desperately wanted to use a miracle. Surely Heaven wouldn’t notice, right? Oh they definitely would, wouldn’t they? Gabriel is probably watching him right now….always watching him, waiting for him to fail...again. No. This time he must follow the rules. No miracles to heal one of the rebels….even if it’s Crowley… his oldest and dearest friend.

As he worked, he noticed Crowley’s pauses get longer, his voice getting quieter. He tried asking questions to keep him going, but eventually he stopped answering.

At first he didn’t notice, his concentration almost entirely on the task at hand.

“Crowley?”

He glanced up and saw that Crowley’s eyes were closed, his face pale, and his chest...still. 

“Damn! Oh damn…. dammit!” Aziraphale cursed, not quite brave enough to venture into the more colorful language that Crowley was often prone to. He dropped what he was doing and checked Crowley for a pulse. It was there, but terribly faint and fading fast. 

He backed away and started pacing the length of the little room. He was frantic. He might be able to save Crowley with a miracle, but it would have to be a big one. There would be no way to hide it. Heaven would know, maybe not who he healed, but certainly that he’d  _ messed with fate _ …(which was basically Gabriel’s pretentious way of saying he was being too obvious with ethereal power). But if he didn’t do something  _ now _ Crowley would be sent back to hell. They’d know he’d skipped out on his assignment, that he’d deliberately disobeyed direct orders… they’ll probably never give him another corporation….and then Aziraphale would never see him again….

At this unbearable thought, Aziraphale made up his mind. He returned to Crowley’s side. It had been quite a long night so he could only hope he had the energy for such a demanding task. 

He anxiously flexed his fingers, hoping to stop them from shaking. He pulled up Crowley’s coat and tunic a little higher to see the bullet wound more clearly. 

He took a deep, stabilizing breath and placed his hands firmly in place just above the injury. 

By now, Aziraphale had done his fair share of “demonic” miracles as per the Arrangement. He prayed to himself that he’d be able to do this without too much angelic grace; he didn’t want to cause Crowley any unnecessary pain.

A warm glow surrounded them both. Crowley’s spirit resisted at first, then, as though it recognized who was trying to get in, it put down its defenses. Now the real work began.

Aziraphale gritted his teeth, ignoring the cold sweat that broke out on his brow and the back of his neck. His hands started shaking again, harder this time. He willed them to stay straight, reprimanding the offending limbs, “ _ not now. Not yet! I’m not finished. _ ”

Crowley started to stir, his face confessing his discomfort. Aziraphale kept going. He felt Crowley’s fractured spine snap back into place and heard Crowley’s resulting gasp and whimper. He imagined Crowley’s skin stitching itself back together—first the exit wound on his back, then his stomach.

“Z-Zira… Sssstop.” But Aziraphale didn’t hear him.

“Angel.  _ Angel…  _ you can stop—you’re hurting yourself, I can feel it.”

“What?” Aziraphale was too distracted, too focused. And then a hand grabbed his wrist, bringing him abruptly back to reality.

“Angel. Stop.” A voice croaked.

“Wh-what? What did I—did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

“Angel. ‘M fine. You did good. I dunno how the hell you did it, but you did good.”

“Oh good.” Aziraphale sighed and fell back onto the chair he’d been sitting on.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“You erm… you got a little somethin’ just here.” Crowley indicated a spot just above Aziraphale’s upper lip.

“Oh?” The Angel reached up to find blood, “Oh.” His nose was bleeding. 

“Yeah I told you you were pushing yourself too much.” Crowley grimaced as he tore a large square of the white bedsheet upon which he was sitting. “Here.”

Aziraphale took the makeshift handkerchief, “thank you. But you really ought not have done that, just ruined those perfectly good sheets.”

“Angel, they're covered in my blood.”

Aziraphale winced at that, but Crowley either didn’t notice or chose to move past it, “Really I don’t know how you did that...but thank you.” He made to swivel and place his feet on the floor so he could sit on the bed.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale demanded, “Absolutely out of the question, lie back down.”

However intimidating he sounded, the moment he stood up to force Crowley back onto the bed, his exhaustion became apparent. All color drained from his face and he stumbled, having to catch himself against the wall.

“Jesus…. Aziraphale, come here. Sit down.”

“N-no you need to...lie back down.”

“Yeah I think you’re right...but you do too. So come on then, we’ll share.”

Aziraphale started, eyes wide, “Crowley, you can’t be serious.”

“I am and I’m not taking no for an answer. If any of your lot finds out, tell them I tempted you.” Crowley’s sarcasm was not lost on the Angel and he glared.

“Tell them you finally fell victim to my intoxicating charms.”

“Oh shut up.” Aziraphale murmured, but relented and made his way to join Crowley on the bed. The latter made room for him and stretched his arm up on the wired headboard, Aziraphale fit in quite nicely, naturally.

Crowley put his arm around the Angel as they both settled in.

“Seriously… Aziraphale. Thank you.”

“Oh Crowley, my dear boy, I would never let you slip away like that if there was something—anything I could do about it.”

The Angel sounded terribly tired.

“I know that. So...thank you.”

Aziraphale barely succeeded in stifling a yawn, “You are most definitely welcome.”

Crowley breathed in the smell of Aziraphale’s hair and rested his chin on top of the Angel’s white-golden curls.

He needed to ask something before Aziraphale drifted off.

“Angel?”

“Hmm?”

“How much trouble are you going to be in for this?” He closed his eyes tightly, dreading the answer.

“Oh… well. I imagine quite a lot. But nothing I can’t handle, my dear. They’re only humans and for all they know, you rebel-hoodlums kidnapped me again.” He joked, but Crowley did not laugh.

“I mean with heaven, Angel.”

“Ah… I see. Well…” he paused for what felt like quite a long time. Crowley could hardly stand it.

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale finally admitted. “I think it’s safe to say it won’t be pleasant. But you do know, don’t you? What I did? I consider whatever punishment Gabriel has in store for me...a very small price to pay for your safety. You know that, right?”

Crowley was silent. Eventually he just held the Angel closer and kissed his forehead.

“Go to sleep, Angel.”

And they both did, unable to resist their corporations’ and spirits’ demand for rest.


End file.
